


Friends/Enemies

by HawthorneWhisperer



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Addiction, Angst, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Minor Character Death, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 19:40:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4112611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawthorneWhisperer/pseuds/HawthorneWhisperer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coworkers (and a little more) who hate each other suddenly become a whole lot more when Madge faces the worst weekend of her life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first time Madge had sex with Gale, she was drunk.  The second time, she was angry.  The third time, she was just plain bored.

That was how she came to be riding him on her living room floor, her tank top pulled down to bare her breasts and her jeans lying on top of his t-shirt on the couch.  It was a Friday night, and she’d fallen asleep after work and woken up at 9pm with no food in the house.  It was too late to convince Peeta to meet her for dinner—he got up insanely early to work at the bakery, so late night dinners were out.  Dreading another boring weekend ahead of her, she’d thrown on a pair of jeans and headed down to the bodega to search through their meager selection.

She had bumped into Gale there.  Of course,  _he_  wasn’t in ratty jeans, an old college hoodie, and glasses.  Of course not.  He was in dark jeans that fitted him entirely too well and a dark blue v-neck t-shirt, which should have been casual, but somehow wasn’t.  She was digging in the horizontal freezer looking for some ice cream—because she was Madge Undersee, Functional Adult That Eats Ice Cream for Dinner—when he’d leaned over her, smelling far better than any man had a right to smell.  “Hot date, Undersee?”

She’d startled, jumping back, until she realized who it was.  “Well, you see, I was  _going_  to go on a date, but then I realized that if it wasn’t you, what’s the point?  So actually I’m settling in to my life of celibacy.  Probably get a bunch of cats, you know, complete the whole picture,” she responded sarcastically.  She could tell he’d been on a date.  After all, she knew he didn’t live near her—he lived in a crappy neighborhood pretty far from the office—and he didn’t seem like the type to just wander into a random bodega, not with his hair so artfully mussed and his shirt pulling so tightly across his chest.  “What went wrong on your date?  She too expensive?  Or could she spell her own name, and thus was too smart for you?”  Madge was annoyed at being caught like this, although to be honest, she was also looking for a diversion.  Peeta was going to be working the whole weekend, and most of her law school friends were either married or had moved out of town.  Weekends like this were  _boring_  and Gale—for all his faults—was at least  _entertaining_.

He laughed, tucking his hands into his pockets.  “Charming.  No, she wasn’t a hooker.  She just wasn’t my type.  I’m more into blondes.”  He ended his sentence with a wink, and she knew they were on the same page.  She stared at him, trying to ignore the heat rising in her belly, and raised an eyebrow.  Just slightly, just enough to get her message across.  He gave a tiny nod and turned around to grab a pack of condoms from the shelf.  She paid (she wasn’t going to let him have anything to hold over her head, and she certainly wasn’t going to let him pay for her  ~~ice cream~~ dinner).  Her apartment was just around the corner, and by the time they exited the bodega his hand was resting lightly on her back.  By the time they were in the elevator his lips were on hers, and they had barely made it in the door before he tugged her sweatshirt off her shoulders and pushed her tank top down so he could tease her nipples with his tongue.  She fisted the hem of his shirt and pulled it off, throwing it in the general direction of the couch.  He’d tripped over her pile of shoes then, falling backwards and bringing her down with him.  She had rolled to the side momentarily to take off her jeans, which he tossed behind him, along with her panties.  She shoved his pants and boxers down his hips and grabbed the condoms, not really in the mood to wait.  The ice cream was melting, but right now, she didn’t give a damn.  The only thing that mattered was the way he felt inside her, his fingers gripping her hips so tightly she knew there’d be bruises.  She leaned forward a bit and curled her own nails into the row of numbers tattooed over his left pec, smiling at the groan her movement created.  It was always like this with Gale—fierce, unforgiving, almost rough.  She liked it though.  It was different from how she normally was with other men—somehow the way she was with Gale she was both  _more_  herself and  _less_  herself at the same time.  She didn’t understand it, but she didn’t question it either.  She ground down on him harder, his pelvic bone hitting her clit at just the right angle, and she threw her head back and swore as she came, Gale following right after her.

Sated, now came the part she dreaded—the  _aftermath_.  It didn’t seem to bother him, the way they could fuck like it was their last day on earth and then go about their daily lives like nothing had happened, but it always made her feel just the slightest bit awkward.  Like she should thank him for the best sex of her life, or something.  But doing that would only make his already enormous ego even bigger.  So instead she stayed silent as he disposed of the condom (how did he know her garbage was under the sink?  He didn’t even ask.  That was weird.) and got dressed.  She pulled her clothes back on as well and stood by the door, hoping he’d take the hint.  He did, and gave her one last bruising kiss before opening the door.  “Thanks for the great fuck, Undersee,” he threw over his shoulder as he strode down the hall.  _Great._   Her neighbors probably heard that, and he’d used her last name, so they’d know it was her.  _Dammit._   She slammed the door, already dreading seeing him Monday morning.

As she’d surmised, he was insufferable Monday morning.  In fact, he was insufferable the whole next month,  _and_  the one after that, grinning at her in the hall, winking in meetings.  At least by the second month she was seeing someone, so she had some distraction from Gale Hawthorne’s ever present smirk.  The only time she could tolerate that smirk was when he was kneeling in front of her, his head about to be buried in her thighs.

The first time he’d done  _that_ , she had been working late.  She was frustrated, stuck on a stupid memo for a stupid client, and she could hear him  _whistling_  in his office.  It was only the two of them left on the entire floor, and she’d already kicked off her shoes and discarded her pantyhose.  Furious with both his whistling and his inability to be ruffled by anything,  _ever_ , she’d stormed into his office, ready to tear into him.  She slammed the door behind her, her heart pounding with what she knew to be fairly misplaced rage, and stopped dead in her tracks.  He had taken off his coat and tie, undone the top few buttons of his crisp white shirt, and rolled the sleeves up to his forearms.  For a split second, she was caught so off-guard by his handsomeness that she forgot why she was angry.  He had looked at her, his eyebrows raised slightly.  “Can I help you with something, Undersee?”

The knowing look on his face had slapped her back into the present, reminding her of her fury.  “Some of us are trying to  _work_ , Hawthorne.  Could you, for one goddamn second, just  _keep it down?_ ”

He had stood then, the grin still on his insufferable fucking face.  “Is that it?  You came in here like you’re about to storm Omaha Beach because I was  _whistling?_ ”  He started walking towards her, the slow, even tread of a predator.  He stopped in front of her, towering over her, his eyes dark.  “Are you sure that’s it?”  He was just inches away, leaning over, but not far enough.  If she wanted it, she’d have to take it.  So she had, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him down to kiss her. 

She still didn’t quite remember how she’d ended up sitting on his on his desk, her blouse pooled on the floor and his shirt unbuttoned.  But she had, and he’d knelt down between her knees, a wolfish grin on his face, and reached up under her pencil skirt to slowly pull her panties down her legs.  It felt like she’d forgotten how to breathe just then, as he slowly kissed his way up her thighs, shoving her skirt up slightly and then spreading her folds with his fingers.  The way his tongue danced from her clit to her opening and back again had her seeing spots, and she knew she was pulling on his hair a little harder than she intended.  But then he slid a finger inside of her, and she had to focus on biting back a scream instead.  She clenched and shattered with his tongue on her, and was still shaky with desire when he’d stood and pulled her off the desk, turning her around and planting a hand between her shoulder blades, pushing her chest to the desk.  He unbuckled his belt and grabbed for the condom that she dimly remembered him retrieving from his briefcase, and  _oh my god she was having sex with a guy that keeps condoms in his briefcase what the fuck was wrong with her_  but then he sheathed himself inside of her and once again, she found herself concentrating on not moaning too loudly.  He pushed in and out of her, a punishing rhythm, one hand pinned between her and the desk, teasing her clit, while the other knotted in her hair, tugging just hard enough to send wave after wave of arousal through her.  Her breasts were swaying against the top of the desk with every stroke, the lace of her still-present bra brushing her nipples and making them ache.  He had bent forward then, the weight of him pressing her down, and nipped at her shoulder, a sensation that made her turn her head to seek out his lips.  His thrusts became uneven as they kissed, and he groaned loudly as he emptied himself into the condom.  He lay still on top of her but his hand kept moving, pulling one last wave of pleasure out of her.

Sweaty and disheveled they stayed that way for a moment, desperately trying to catch their breath.  Gale stood, pulled out of her, and smirked again.  “Feeling better now, Undersee?”  Her earlier fury returning, she’d stormed out of his office, frantically buttoning up her blouse and straightening her hair.  It wasn’t until she was safely locked back in her office that she’d realized she had left her panties on his office floor.  Oh well, the pervert could keep them for all she cared.  (The fact that they had reappeared, freshly laundered, in a non-descript paper bag in the bottom drawer of her desk a week later was something she firmly overlooked).

A knock on her office door snapped her out of it.   _Good lord, was she really just fantasizing about that time she fucked Gale Hawthorne in his office?  She was supposed to be working, dammit.  And she was technically dating Gloss, which granted that was probably going no where due to the douchebag stamp he had practically tattooed on his forehead, but whatever.  He was a distraction._   “Come in!” she called, more cheerfully than she felt.

Delly poked her head in.  “Don’t hate me, but the partners assigned you and Gale to go handle that client outside of Philly.  It should only take a day or two, but they want you to leave on Wednesday and stay until it’s done.  I’ll handle booking hotel rooms for you guys, but…” she trailed off, clearly nervous.

“But  _what_ , Delly?”  Madge knew it wasn’t the receptionist’s fault, but the thought of spending several days with  _Gale Fucking Hawthorne_  as the only friendly face made her want to stab herself in the eyeball with a pen.

“Uh, well…they don’t want to get hit for overbilling, so…”

“…so?”

“So-they-want-you-to-drive-together-and-Gale-already-offered-okay-bye,”  Delly said in one breath, closing the door before Madge could process her words.  Madge groaned, dropping her forehead to her desk.  This was going to be a long fucking week.


	2. Chapter 2

Gale picked her up ungodly early Wednesday morning, the fact that he knew where she lived due to having fucked her there just eight weeks prior going studiously unremarked upon by both of them.  He had an extra coffee in his cup holder, a gesture she grudgingly conceded was extremely necessary and almost nice.  The drive went quickly, the radio tuned to NPR and Madge sleeping with her head against the window.  The client meetings went smoothly as well, and Madge was about ready to put the day in her “not completely horrible” column when they arrived at the hotel to find that not only had Delly somehow only booked  _one_  room with  _one_  bed, but there was a dental convention in town and there weren’t any other rooms in the hotel.  And there weren’t any other hotels in this godforsaken town, so it was either that or sleep in the car.  Madge had just snapped that maybe she  _would_  sleep in the car, _thank you_ , when Gale stepped in.  “Look, you got a roll-away?” he asked the clerk.  “Great.  Bring that up.  Undersee, grow the fuck up.  It’ll be fine.”  Grow up?   _Grow up?_   Like she was some sort of spoiled brat.  She was going to  _kill_  him.  Possibly after she murdered Delly, or maybe before.  She hadn’t decided yet, but death was definitely in the cards for both of them.

 

She paced the hotel room, wondering what on earth she was going to tell Gloss.   _Sorry, there was a mixup and now I have to share a room with an extremely attractive colleague whom I sometimes fuck when I don’t have anything else going on_  didn’t seem like a great thing to say to someone she’d only been dating for a few weeks.  She debated not telling him at all—it wasn’t like they’d had the “let’s be exclusive” talk anyway, or even done more than a few good-night kisses, and she wasn’t planning on having sex with Gale tonight.  She didn’t think.

“You gonna settle down, or are you planning on wearing out the carpet over there?”  Gale was sprawled on top of the king-sized bed— _her_  bed, to be accurate, since the roll-away was his brilliant idea—watching TV.

She sank into the armchair near the window.  “I just don’t know what to tell Gloss.”  She wasn’t sure why she was telling him about it, but here she was, telling him about it.

“Gloss?  Who the fuck is Gloss?  And what sort of parent names their kid Gloss?”

“I don’t know.  What sort of parent gives their baby boy a middle-aged lady’s name?” she snapped.

He snorted.  “You’ve got me there, Undersee.  But seriously, who is he, and why does he have you so worked up?”

“He’s just this guy I’ve been seeing for a few weeks.  We’re not serious or anything, but I doubt he’d be thrilled to hear I’m spending a night in a hotel room with you.”

“Tell him.”  Gale shrugged.  “The way I see it, you either trust someone, or you don’t.  If I was seeing a woman and she called to tell me she had to share a room with a guy, I’d figure that if she was telling me about it, it would be fine, because it means she doesn’t have anything to hide.  If she didn’t tell me, well, then either she has something to hide or thinks I don’t trust her, and then there’s a problem.”

When he put it that way, it seemed so simple.  Just another reason to hate him, she supposed, pulling out her phone and hitting Gloss’ contact.

It started ringing.  “Hello?”  Madge paused, thrown.  It was a woman’s voice.  He had a sister, right?  She vaguely remembered him mentioning a sister with an equally ridiculous name, like Satin, or Silk, or–“Cashmere!  This must be Cashmere.  Hi, I’m Madge, is Gloss there?” she began, proud of herself for remembering the sister’s name and not laughing as she said it. 

“This isn’t fucking  _Cashmere_.  Who the fuck are you and why are you calling my  _fiancé?_ ” the woman snarled.

Fiancé?  Oh, fuck.  Madge hit the end button and threw her phone down like she’d been burned.  Gale looked up from his phone, where he’d been typing since she started the call.  “Uh, Madge?  Did you look this guy up before you started dating?  Search for him on Facebook, or anything?”

She shook her head.  “No, we met in a bar,” she cringed internally before continuing, “and he sent me a friend request later that night.  Why?”

Gale held out his phone.  “You might want to see this.”

And there, on Gale’s phone, was a Facebook search for Gloss with  _two_  results, the same man in both profile photos.  Oh,  _fuck_.  Gale chuckled a bit.  “The idiot didn’t even set his second profile to private.  Undersee, c’mon.  You deserve better.”  She buried her face in her hands, humiliated.  She thought his profile had seemed a little thin, but hey, not everyone’s into social media.  The other profile clearly showed his engagement status, and his tall, model-thin fiancée.   _Fuck,_  she thought for a third time.  _Fuck_.  She sat on the edge of the bed, unable to look at Gale, who was cracking up.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe I was the  _other woman_ ,” she groaned.  Maybe the floor would open up and swallow her.  “And I can’t believe I was the other woman for a man named  _Gloss.”_

Gale was still laughing.  “Oh come on, Madge.  Did you really think you were going to marry him?  Settle down and have a couple douchebag babies with him?  Name them shit like ‘Sport’ and “Glitter?’”

“Sport and Glitter?  Really?  That’s the best you can come up with?”  She tried to keep a straight face but failed.  It was all too ridiculous.  And sort of a relief, actually.  Well, not a relief that she had helped him cheat on his fiancé, but a relief that she had a concrete reason to end things with him.  Laughing, she grabbed her phone again and typed out a quick text to Gloss.  “ _Lose my number.  And if you want to know why, ask your fiancé.”_   She flopped back on the bed next to Gale, covering her face with her arm.  “God, this is so embarrassing,” she moaned.

Gale had managed to control his laughter a bit.  “Madge, really. It’s okay.  You said yourself you were only seeing him for a few weeks, and most people don’t automatically assume someone who presents themselves as single has a secret fiancé somewhere.”

“Yeah, but…it’s  _you_.  Why did I have to find out I was a complete idiot in front of  _you_?” Madge kept her face steadfastly hidden, not wanting to see the smug grin she was sure would be on his face.

Gale tugged her arm away from her face and revealed said smug grin.  “Aw, it’s not so bad.  Besides, I’ve seen you in  _way_  more compromising situations than  _this._ ”

At that, Madge stuck her hand out to the side and grabbed the nearest pillow, walloping him on the back of the head.  Of course, given that his head was directly above hers, it had the side effect of knocking his forehead into hers.

“Good one, Undersee,” he responded drily, rising onto his knees and smacking her face with another pillow.

Screeching with indignation, she tried to push herself up and redouble her grip on the pillow when she got hit from the side unexpectedly, knocking her farther onto the bed.  Gale landed on top of her, still laughing, and pinned her wrists to the bed above her head.  “I’d like to see you get out of this one,” he smirked.

Madge was breathless with laughter as she tried to squirm out from under him, wriggling her hips and trying to knock him off of her even though she knew it was futile.  She went limp, intending to admit defeat, when Gale suddenly dipped his head and kissed her.

It wasn’t one of their usual kisses, full of bruising passion and need.  It was softer, sweeter, almost tender.   _Oh no, we can’t have this_ , she thought to herself.  Madge took advantage of his momentary preoccupation to shift his weight and roll him to his back.  Her knees were locked around his hips as they rolled, landing with her on top.  In control.  She couldn’t let this get out of hand, not like the first time.  She leaned down and kissed him again, harder this time.  She sank her teeth into his lower lip, pulling back slightly before letting go.  She made eye contact then, and for a split second she thought she saw disappointment before his eyes lit into excitement, an understanding passing between them.

He rolled them again, his arms keeping most of his weight off of her and his hips nestled between hers.  His lips dragged down her neck, nipping at her collarbone as his hands undid the buttons first on her fitted vest and then on her white button down blouse.  “Did you wear this on purpose?” he growled into her ear as he held her up and pushed them down her arms.

“What?” For some reason, she was having a hard time thinking.

“Did you wear this outfit on purpose, knowing it would make me want to rip it off you and fuck you right there in the client meeting?”

Madge paused.  Had she?  She couldn’t deny that she noticed the looks Gale would throw her way when she wore something vaguely Annie-Hall-ish.  She knew he liked her in suits, knew he liked knowing that she wasn’t nearly as straight-laced underneath.  When she was dressing this morning, had she thought about making him look at her like that again?  If she had, what did that mean? But then his hands were on her breasts, her bra unhooked and tossed to the floor, and she forgot what she’d been wondering about.

She stood, hastily shedding her pants and underwear as Gale did the same.  She hadn’t made as much progress disrobing him as he had of her, so it took him a little longer.  He nodded in the direction of his suitcase.  “Condoms are in there, top front pocket.”

She rifled through the pocket and quickly found what she was looking for, trying not to think about what it meant that he  _always_  had condoms on him.   _Just how many women is he sleeping with_? Madge climbed back onto the enormous bed and leaned back on her elbows.  She watched as he crawled toward her, his eyes practically burning with need.  He kissed her again, a familiar, harsh kiss, with almost enough teeth to hurt.  Hovering over her, he trailed his hand down her side, sliding his fingers into the wetness between her legs and groaning.  Gently, he pushed one finger inside of her, and used his thumb to rub her clit with just the right amount of pressure.  Her head lolled back but he kissed her then, bringing her head back up and locking his eyes on hers.  He was still looking at her when she came, squeezing her eyes shut and letting lose a deep moan.

As usual, he barely gave her a moment to collect herself.  She was laying on her side, still coming down from her high when he leaned over and growled in her ear.  “On your knees.”  She hurried to comply and situated herself with her hands grasping the headboard as he knelt behind her and rolled the condom on.  Then he pushed into her without warning and stilled for a moment, letting her adjust to the intrusion.  He pulled back and thrust again, not all the way, but just deep enough to leave her breathless.  Again and again he plunged inside her as she pushed back and met each stroke of his dick, both of them groaning and the headboard slamming wildly into the wall.  Suddenly his hips surged forward and his hands tightened around her hips, pulling her back against him as hard as he could.  She felt him come inside her and briefly wondered what it would feel like without a condom but then pushed that thought back into the dark recesses of her brain from whence it came.

Gale pulled out of her and flopped to the bed.  She curled up next to him, both of them breathing heavily.  “Just give me a second to catch my breath, then I’ll see to you,” he chuckled, clearly pleased with himself.

“Mmmph, don’t bother,” she responded, her face buried in a pillow.  “Too sore.”  It had been intense, and while she liked it, liked the way he felt inside her when she was on her hands and knees, it had left her feeling a little worn out and sore—in a good way, but still store.

He rolled over onto his elbow, his handsome face creased with worry.  “Did I hurt you?  Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t—“ she cut off his babbling with a kiss.

“Gale, I’m fine.  I promise.  If I don’t like something, you’ll know.  And this way we’re even: one for you, one for me.”

Gale responded with a long, slow kiss that finished with a light peck on the tip of her nose.   _Oh no, we’re back to this,_  she thought wearily, but sleep was calling.  She would sort it out in the morning.


	3. Chapter 3

She woke to the shower running in the bathroom and a vague sense of loss, like maybe they’d been sleeping curled around each other before he’d gotten up.  She stretched leisurely, contemplating her situation.  Impulsively, she dug through Gale’s bag, grabbed another condom and ducked into the bathroom.  And so they fucked in the shower that morning, her back against the cold, slick tiles and her legs wrapped around his waist.

 

The rest of the day went smoothly, although they were very nearly late when Gale distracted her from doing her hair by pressing kisses down the nape of her neck.  But she stopped herself, and they made it to the client’s office on time.  They managed to wrap things up by 3pm and hopped back into Gale’s car, hoping to beat rush hour traffic home.  The odds weren’t in their favor, however, and an hour later they found themselves stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic.  Gale was listening to a classic rock station, because of  _course_  he would, and singing softly along, when her phone rang.  “Daddy?  Daddy, slow down, I can’t understand you.”  Her father, normally so placid and composed, was babbling about ambulances and hospitals.  Her heart sank, knowing instinctively what was coming next. 

Her father took a deep, shaky breath.  “Madgie, it’s your mom.  She’s—she wasn’t breathing.  We’re at the hospital and you need to get here right away.”  Madge asked which hospital and he gave her the details, promising to call if anything changed.  Gale was already signaling to change lanes, exiting the freeway.

“We’ll get there faster on surface streets, I promise.  Just hold tight.”  Madge hadn’t even told him what happened or what hospital, but apparently he’d been listening.  He also drove like a bat of out hell, cutting people off and shooting through yellows.  They arrived at the hospital in record time.  Gale pulled into the emergency room drive and Madge hopped out without even thinking to say goodbye.  She could collect her luggage from him later.

She ran inside and up to the ICU on the second floor where she found her father sitting despondently in the hall.  Doctors were with her mother and family was relegated to the waiting room for the moment.  Neither of them had the words to speak.

Madge’s mother had been sick as long as she could remember.  Well, that’s what Madge thought when she was young—that Mommy was sick, that she had headaches, that Madge needed to play very quietly so as to not upset Mommy.  As she got older, she realized it was the alcohol that caused the headaches.  Alcohol, and then pills.  Lots of pills, until she was nearly bedridden.  Her father had sat by, at a loss to change it.  And image had always been important to the Undersees, so something like rehab or AA just didn’t fit.  It wasn’t neglect on her father’s part, or even malicious on her mother’s part, but Madge had watched her mother slowly waste away as her father did nothing to stop it.  She had hated her mother for a long time, furious that she refused to change, refused to find help.  It’s no wonder Madge had become friends with Peeta in grade school—two almost-motherless kids, with kind but ineffectual fathers.  But where Peeta handled it by reaching out, by becoming the most charming, popular kid in school, Madge had withdrawn into herself. 

The doctors returned, their faces somber.  Madge and her father collapsed into one another and stumbled into the ICU to say goodbye.  She hadn’t hated her mother for years, but she hadn’t really forgiven her either.  And seeing her hooked up to tubes and machines that kept beeping, promising life where there wasn’t any hope to be had, was the hardest thing she’d ever done.

After, they staggered back into the hallway.  A hospital employee appeared with paperwork to sign, and Madge told her father to go ahead.  She headed toward the vending machine for a cup of coffee, wondering if she should call Peeta for a ride or just take a cab.  It was later than she thought, and while she knew he would gladly get out of bed to come get her—and probably would be upset if she  _didn’t_ call him—the thought of calling and telling him that her mother was dead was too painful.  Once she did that, it would be real and there was no going back.  She rounded the corner and froze.  Gale was sitting in a too-small waiting room chair, his head tipped back against the wall and his eyes closed, clearly sleeping.  “Gale?”  Her voice was rough with unshed tears.  “What are you doing here?”

He woke, briefly confused by his surroundings.  “Oh, um…well, it seemed serious and I didn’t want to leave you alone and didn’t know who to call.  I called Delly though, and told her that you wouldn’t be in tomorrow.  I tried to see you, but they said immediate family only, so I’ve just…been here.  Is it…is everything all right?”

At his question, asked with real concern in his voice, she broke down.  Madge fell to her knees, the grief of the past few hours washing over her.  Gale was at her side in a second, wrapping his arms around her tightly.  She managed to get it out in between sobs, even though he kept telling her that she didn’t have to talk if she didn’t want to.  They sat there, on the floor, Madge sobbing and Gale cradling her, for a long, long time.  Long enough for a few nurses to stop and see if there was anything they could do, and long enough for her father to return, the last bit of paperwork signed.

Her father stood above them, his grief beyond tears.  “Madgie, honey, we should go.  There’s…there’s no reason to stay here anymore.”  At that Madge cried harder, because it was true.  Her mother was gone.  They didn’t need to stay at the hospital, because she was dead and there was no fixing that anymore.  Gale helped her stand and held his hand out.  “Mr. Undersee, I’m sorry for your loss.  I hate to meet you under these circumstances, but I’m Gale.  I’m a friend of Madge’s from work.”

Friend? she wondered dimly.  Did friend really describe her relationship with Gale?  It was kind of absurd for him to put it that way, when she thought about it, and a hysterical laugh left her throat.  Her father looked at her, puzzled, and Gale tucked her under his arm a little tighter.

“Thanks, son,” her father responded, his politician skills returning.  “But just call me Roger.  And thanks for getting Madgie here so fast.”

Gale looked like he was about to say something but then changed his mind.  “My car is here—should I drive you all home?”

Oh god,  _home_.  She couldn’t take her father back to their house, back to where just hours before, her mother had been alive.  She looked at Gale helplessly and he seemed to understand.  “Madge, your place has a guest room, right?”  She nodded.  “Okay then, I’ll just take you both back to Madge’s place for the night, okay?”

Relieved that someone else was in charge for the moment, Madge and her father followed him to his car.  Back at her apartment her father went wordlessly into the guest room and shut the door behind him.  She knew she should go to sleep, but that seemed so beyond her right now.  Again, Gale seemed to understand.  He pulled her down on the couch and let her nestle against his chest, under his arm.  “We can just sit here like this, all right?  You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” he whispered into her hair.

And sit like that they did, until the grey wash of dawn swept over the apartment.  She woke stretched out on the couch, a blanket draped over her.  She could hear Gale in the kitchen, moving around and talking to someone on the phone.  She padded over just as he hung up.  “I just talked to Delly.  She’ll let everyone know, and I’m taking the day off.”

“Gale, you don’t—that’s not—“

He shook his head.  “Madge, you can’t do this on your own, and neither can your father.  Just let me help, all right?”

She nodded mutely, wondering how this had suddenly become her life.  Something was nagging at her though, something that had been at the back of her mind since the hospital.  The things he said, the way he acted—it was like he  _knew_  what it was like.  He hadn’t once told her it was going to be okay, because it wasn’t.  He just held her and let her cry.  Gale was moving around her kitchen, cracking eggs into a pan.  “You probably don’t feel like eating, but you should.  It’s going to be a long few days and skipping meals is just going to make it harder, okay?”

She couldn’t keep it inside anymore.  “Who did you lose?”  It was blunt, and yesterday she probably would have cringed at its rawness, but today that didn’t matter anymore.

“My dad.  Drunk driver.  I was fourteen.”  He kept his back to her, his attention on the eggs.

“Oh god, Gale.  I’m so sorry.  I—I didn’t know.”  She’d known he had grown up in a trailer park with several younger siblings though, and knew his mom had raised them on her own.  Madge hadn’t really thought about it directly, but she’d kind of supposed his dad had run off or something.  She was ashamed of herself now, for being the sort of stuck-up snob Gale had once accused her of being.

He shrugged.  “How would you?  It’s not something I bring up in meetings.”

“How did you…how did you survive it?  Does it ever get better?”  Her voice cracked and tears threatened to overtake her again.  Gale turned from the stove, pushing some eggs onto a plate and sliding it over the counter to her.

“Well, first of all, I survived it because I had to.  Ma was eight months pregnant and my brothers were a lot younger, so I didn’t have much of a choice.  Ma is a rock, though.  I don’t think we would have made it without her.  And Posy helped—she gave us something to focus on, something good.”

Madge searched her memory.  Posy?  Was that the smiling little girl in pig tails?  He had photos of her in his office of course, but—she realized shamefully—Madge had always suspected that Posy was his daughter, some prom night mistake growing up in his hometown.  She’d even assumed that child support was part of the reason he lived in such a shitty neighborhood.  God, she was  _horrible_.

Once again, Gale seemed to read her mind.  “Did you think Posy was my daughter?”  He smiled gently.  “You aren’t the first person to think that, and you won’t be the last.  And I am kind of the only dad she’s known, which is pretty shitty for her when you think about it.”

“I’m sure she’s lucky to have you,” she mumbled around a mouthful of eggs.  They tasted like ash in her mouth, but Gale seemed to know what he was talking about so she choked them down.

“She deserved a better dad than an angry teenager convinced the world was rigged against him, but I did my best.  She’s only a sophomore in high school, but she’s taking four AP classes already.  She’s definitely the smartest Hawthorne, and I’d also bet she’s the prettiest.”

If she could have, Madge would have smiled then.  The way he talked about his sister was touching, but something else occurred to her.  “Wait, your tattoo.  Is that…?”

“It’s my dad’s birthday.  I got it the minute I turned eighteen, and I thought Ma was going to murder me.  She got over it, though.  Eventually.  And both my brothers have one too, now.  Anyway, as to your other question—no, it doesn’t really get better.  But you get used to it, and after awhile you can go about your day normally.  In some ways, I never wanted it to get better, because that would mean forgetting him.  But eventually, you can manage.”

Behind them, a door creaked and her father walked out.  “Madgie, are those eggs?”

She pushed her plate towards her dad and slid off the stool.  “Finish these, Daddy.  I’ll go change my clothes.”  They had a long day ahead of them, full of funeral arrangements and terrible phone calls to make.  She had just shut the door to her room when it opened again and Gale followed her in.

“Hey, sorry, but I forgot to ask.  Is there anyone you need me to call?  An aunt, or a cousin or anything?”

God, she really didn’t have anyone.  “No, no relatives.  My grandparents all died a long time ago, and Daddy is an only child.  Mom—she had a twin, but she died.  Before I was born.  It’s just me and Daddy now.”  At this realization a fresh wave of tears hit her.  Gale pulled her into a tight hug until she’d composed herself.  She really needed to call Peeta, but she wasn’t sure she could bring herself to say the words.  So she handed her phone to Gale.  “You could call Peeta, though.  He’s my best friend.  He’s going to be mad I didn’t call him myself, but…I can’t.”

“He’ll understand, I promise.  I’ll go call him, you get dressed.”  He closed the door behind him, the phone already pressed to his ear.

The rest of the day was a blur of meetings and paperwork, and the singularly awful task of  _coffin shopping_.  Gale drove, as there seemed to be an understanding that neither Madge nor her father was exactly up to being behind the wheel, but he stayed in the car through the appointments, constantly on the phone.  When they got back to her apartment, Peeta was there.  Peeta, and a pretty woman with long dark hair and the same grey eyes as Gale.  She was too old to be Posy though—a cousin?  Peeta must have let her in when he got there with his spare key.  He enfolded Madge in a hug, whispering his apologies in her ear.  Gale gave the dark haired woman a quick hug as well, thanking her for coming.  When Peeta finally let go, the woman approached her.  “Hi, sorry, I’m Katniss. I’m sorry about your mom. I’m a friend of Gale’s, and he called and explained what happened.  I—I can help.  I know what it’s like.”  The sympathy in Katniss’ eyes indicated that the offer of help was genuine.

Peeta turned to Gale.  “So, what’s left?”

“Just the clothes, I think.”

Madge stared at them, dumbfounded.  “What do you mean,  _just the clothes_?  There’s tons left to do.  We don’t even have a caterer for lunch on Sunday!”  Her voice rose a little hysterically at the end, overwhelmed by everything she had to.

“Didn’t Gale tell you?  It’s all covered.  I’ve been talking to him all day, I thought…” Peeta cast a skeptical eye at Gale, who looked suddenly uncomfortable.

“Yeah, I, uh, didn’t know how to explain, but…between Peeta and I, I think we’ve got everything.  His bakery is going to handle the lunch.  All that’s left are the clothes for your mom, and maybe picking up a change of clothes for your dad, if he’s staying here again.”

For the first time since they’d gotten back to her apartment, Roger spoke.  “I can go home tonight, I think.  No, I should.  I should pick out her clothes.”

Peeta took charge.  “Okay then, how about this.  I’ll take Roger home, and Katniss can follow in her car and bring the clothes back here so Gale can take them to the funeral home tomorrow morning.  I’ll stay in your room, Madge, just in case Roger needs anything.”

“Sounds good.  I’ll stay on the couch,” Gale replied.  The level of understanding between the two of them was odd to watch—maybe they really had been on the phone all day.  Peeta gave Madge another hug and made her promise to call if she needed anything.  Katniss gave her a fleeting hug as well, and they trooped out of the apartment, leaving Madge and Gale alone.

She sat at the counter, bewildered.  She had assumed she would be doing this alone, and in the meetings with the funeral home and cemetery today, she had.  Her father had sat mutely beside her, unable to bring himself to contribute.  She didn’t blame him, but it didn’t make things easier.  She knew Peeta would help, but she had never thought that Gale would—it wasn’t his job.  He was…well, he was something, but it wasn’t a coworker and she wasn’t really sure if he was a friend, either.  So Gale taking the day to help organize things, and even call in reinforcements in the form of the mysterious Katniss, left her stunned. 

Gale was again rummaging through her cupboards.  “Have you eaten anything today?  Anything since the eggs?”  He looked over his shoulder and saw her shake her head.  “Well, there isn’t much here but…here, how about soup?  Should I make you,” he looked at the label and raised his eyebrows, “chicken and stars?  Really, Madge?  Chicken and stars?”  For the first time all day, she cracked a weak smile.

“I like how the stars get all mushy.  It’s like noodles, but easier to eat.”

Gale smiled back.  “All right then, chicken and stars it is.”

While he heated up the soup she went into her bedroom and changed into sweats.  She was exhausted, but sleep still didn’t seem possible.  Back in the kitchen Gale was rooting through her fridge.  He came up with the bare minimum to make himself a sandwich, but she knew that it had probably been a difficult task.  “I don’t mean to be a dick, but…is your fridge always like this?  Do you even  _eat?”_

She shrugged.  “Mostly, I go out, or I pick something up on the way home from work.  I  _can_  cook, it just doesn’t seem worth it for just me, you know?”

When her soup was finished, Gale turned to her.  “I know it seems impossible, but you should really try to sleep.  Wakes are a fucking nightmare.  Trust me, it’s like an emotional marathon.”  She nodded, too tired to ask why he was doing this; why he was taking care of her.  But so far, it seemed like he knew what he was doing, so she plodded off to bed.

Two hours later, she was still wide awake.  Gale was sleeping on the couch, having refused the guest bedroom.  She wandered out to the living room, just for something to do. He was shirtless, sprawled on the couch on his back, and at first she thought he was sleeping, but he lifted his head and looked at her.  “Can’t sleep?”  She shook her head mutely.  Slowly, he rolled off the couch and walked toward her.  “Would it help if I–?” and he tilted his head toward her open bedroom door.  Silently, she took his hand and pulled him toward her bed, laying down on her side.  Gale gingerly laid down beside her and put his arm over her waist, tucking her back into his chest.  And like that, she finally fell asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

It was Sunday morning, and Madge was sitting on her bedroom floor, staring at an her open closet.  _What do you wear to bury your mother?_   She couldn’t wear what she’d worn last night, but that was probably her only conservative black dress that wasn’t part of a skirt suit.  The rest of her dresses showed a little too much cleavage for a funeral, much less her  _mother’s_  funeral.  God, what sort of a daughter didn’t have something to wear to her mother’s funeral?   _A crappy one, probably_.  One who hadn’t fully forgiven her before she died, one who had spent years resenting her.  She felt the tears run down her cheeks, crying for the millionth time in the past few days.

 

Gale had been right—the wake was terrible.  With no other family it had just been her and her father standing next to the casket, greeting an endless line of people.  Most of them were total strangers to Madge, and they weren’t really her parents’ friends either.  They were mostly politicians, men and women who knew her father and knew it would be noted if they didn’t at least show to his wife’s wake.  She accepted their condolences numbly, wishing there was a Robot-Madge she could substitute for awhile.  Gale had stayed for the entire wake, sitting in the back.  He drove her home and slept over again, having apparently appointed himself her guardian for the weekend.  She didn’t argue.  She needed him.

And now he was out in the living room, having a hushed conversation with a woman.  Katniss, maybe?  The voice sounded a little deeper than Katniss’ had, but then again Madge didn’t know Katniss very well and she was also very close to going off her rocker completely.  She knew they needed to leave soon, but after she had showered and done her hair she just…stopped.  She couldn’t do this anymore.

There was a quiet knock at her door.  She cinched her robed tighter and called for the person—probably Gale, wondering what was taking so long—to come in.  To her surprise, it wasn’t Gale, but a tall, thin woman.  She had dark brown hair and light brown eyes, but there was something vaguely familiar about her.  “Hi honey, I’m Hazelle,” she said softly.  “Gale’s mom.  I was here dropping off a fresh suit for him, and he thought you might need a hand.”

Madge stared at her, uncomprehending.  Eventually, she found her voice.  “I—I don’t have anything to wear, and I know we have to go but I can’t wear a  _suit_  and—“ she broke off, overwhelmed by sobs once again. 

Hazelle knelt next her and drew her into a hug, rocking her slightly.  “I’m sure it’s not as bad as that, honey.  Let me take a look, all right?”  She stood and pushed a few hangers aside, pulling out a dress here, a skirt there.  Finally, she settled on one.  “Here we go.  This will look lovely on you, and I promise that it’s appropriate.  What do you think?” 

Madge looked at the dress Hazelle had chosen.  “It’s navy.  I should be wearing  _black_.”

“I promise, honey, no one is going to notice, or care.  Do you want some help getting dressed?”  Madge shook her head and Hazelle turned to go.  She stopped at the door and walked over to where Madge was sitting and knelt down in front of her again, placing her hands gently on Madge’s shoulders.  “I know it’s awful right now, and it’s going to be awful for awhile.  But you’ve got good people who care about you, so you just lean on them until you can stand again.”

Somehow, Madge got dressed and made it through both the funeral and burial in the cemetery.  Mostly, she cried on her father’s shoulder, but when it came time to go back to her parents’—actually, just her dad’s—house, Gale was there, holding her hand tightly and letting her rest her head on his shoulder.

To her surprise, she found Katniss and Hazelle already in the house, helping Peeta set up the lunch.  A tall, coltish teenage girl with short dark hair who was also fluttering around introduced herself as Posy.  There was a blonde woman too, maybe in her early twenties, whom Madge couldn’t place at all until Katniss mentioned that her little sister Prim had offered to come help as well.  Stunned at the generosity of these complete strangers, she turned to make sure the parlor and living room were in order and walked straight into Delly.  Delly immediately pulled her in a back breaking, rib-crunching hug.  She’d seen Delly at the wake, of course—the whole office had come, which was nice-but-exhausting—but she hadn’t had a chance to talk to her yet.

Delly was probably her only real friend in the office—if she didn’t count Gale, which Madge still wasn’t sure if she did.  Or at least, she hadn’t before.  Delly was bubbly and friendly to everyone, and probably the nicest person (after Peeta) that Madge had ever met.  Delly held her close, whispering “I’m so sorry” over and over again.  Then she pulled back and began chattering, which was Delly’s specialty.  Madge appreciated it, since she didn’t have to do much more than smile and nod in response.  Apparently, Delly had already convinced the partners to give Madge another week off, and there was some drama with one of the other junior associates suddenly announcing he was leaving for a new firm, and on and on.  Madge didn’t really follow most of it, but she’d rather talk to Delly than deal with the large numbers of people filing into the house.

An hour in, Madge was ready to scream.  The constant stream of well-meaning people saying the exact wrong thing, on top of the wake the night before, had her at the end of her rope.  She was talking to one of her father’s fellow politicians, a grey-haired man droning on about “opportunities” for her father, and herself, “if she ever wanted to get into politics, since a pretty little thing like her would be a huge hit with the voters,” when she started contemplating grabbing a fork off a nearby table and driving it into her thigh, just for something to do.  Just as she’d decided that yes, a fork to the leg would be preferable to continuing this conversation, Hazelle materialized at her side.  She started asking the politician questions about himself—every politician’s favorite subject—and shot Madge a look that clearly said “escape while you can.”

Madge took the opportunity and darted upstairs into her childhood bedroom.  She collapsed on the floor next to her bed, grateful for the silence.  There was a soft tap on the door and Gale stepped in, a plate of sandwiches balanced on his hand.  “Ma said you were looking a little run-down.  I thought you might want something to eat—that Peeta of yours isn’t half bad at cooking.”  Gale settled next her on the floor, their backs resting against her daybed.  She picked at the sandwiches as Gale surveyed her room, fighting back a smile.  Finally he cracked.  “I’m sorry, but I’ve gotta ask—is this your room, or Tinkerbelle’s?”

She smiled slightly, a little bit of the tension she’d been carrying for the past seventy-two hours draining out of her.  Her room was a little…frilly.  And pink.  Very, very pink.  “My dad had it decorated for me when I was eight, when I was going through a major princess phase.  And by the time I felt like changing it, Mom wasn’t doing very well and I knew Daddy would have a hard time seeing me ‘grow out of it’ so I just left it.”  Gale nodded and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her in slightly.  She breathed him in as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.   _This_  was what she needed.  Comfort, physical contact, _him_.  If there was anything that could make her forget the pain of the last few days, it was Gale.  She turned her head slightly and lifted her chin, brushing her lips against his.  He responded, so she rose to her knees and deepened the kiss, pouring everything she’d felt since Thursday into it.  Madge pushed the sandwiches aside and climbed into his lap, the desperation inside of her growing with every second.

Suddenly, Gale pulled back.  “Madge, no.  Not like this.”  Ignoring him, she attacked his lips again.  She needed this; she needed  _him_.  But his lips stopped moving and he shoved her roughly off of him, scrambling backwards a bit and standing up.  “Madge, I said no.  Please, not now.”

She stood, confused.  There was a giant, gaping hole inside of her, and she needed something to distract her.  Even just for a little while.  Gale knew that, didn’t he?  She grabbed his tie, intending to pull him down, certain he would understand, he would change his mind, he would  _know_  that this was what she needed, but he just put his hands on her shoulders and moved her a step back.  “Look, I get it, okay?  I really do.  You’re hurting, and you think that this will make it better, that I can distract you from the pain.  But I can’t.  It won’t work, and I won’t be just an escape for you.”

Her confusion turned to fury and she put both hands on his chest and shoved him as hard as she could.  “Fuck you.  You know that?  Fuck you.  Who the fuck do you think you are, telling me what to feel; what will make me feel better?  Who the fuck put you in charge?  I don’t remember asking for your help.  You’re just some guy I screw sometimes, so if you aren’t going to fuck me, get the hell out of my house.”

Gale stared at her, a mixture of emotions playing across his face.  When he spoke again, his voice was devoid of emotion but his eyes were blazing.  “Fine.  If that’s what you want, I’ll go.  See you around.”  He walked out, leaving her door open.  She shut it angrily and sank to the floor, the sobs ripping painfully out of her.  She couldn’t go back downstairs, not like this.  She couldn’t see his mother, and his sister, and his friend, all there for her, even though she was a stranger.  Even though she didn’t deserve it.  So even though it was childish, Madge opened her window and climbed down the trellis.  She’d done it hundreds of times before, although not since she graduated high school.  She ducked around her father’s rose garden, heading for the back corner of the yard.

She’d only been sitting on the swingset for a few minutes when Peeta found her.  He sat in the swing next to her, even though it was comically too small for both of them.  Peeta didn’t say anything, which was how she knew.  “How much did you hear?”

“Most of it.  The relevant bits, at least.  I’d snuck upstairs to use the master bathroom, and, well, you weren’t exactly quiet.”

Madge buried her face in her hands.  “Oh god, who else heard?”

“No one, I don’t think.  There wasn’t anyone else upstairs, at least.  And it’s pretty noisy downstairs.”  He sat quietly for a minute; thinking.  “Are you going to tell me how long this has been going on?”

“I don’t know, maybe five or six months?”  It was the truth, as long as you didn’t count that  _first_  time, which she couldn’t.  It was too painful to think about, especially right now.

“So for the past five or six months, you’ve been having sex with him and then, what, you just go your separate ways and pretend it didn’t happen?”

“Pretty much.”

“Except for when your mom dies and he basically plans her funeral and takes care of you like he’s your best friend-slash-boyfriend.”  Peeta looked sideways at her.  “Madge, c’mon.  It’s got to be more than that.”

“It’s not like that.  His dad died when he was a kid, so he knows what it’s like.  He was just being nice.  He’d have done it for anyone.”  Gale Hawthorne and  _nice_  didn’t seem to fit in the same sentence, but when she thought about it, it was true.  Since that awful phone call, he’d been nice.  And sweet.  And kind.  And a dozen other synonyms that made her ashamed of her earlier outburst.

“Oh really?  So you’re telling me that if Delly’s mom died, you think he’d have taken time off work, called in favors to get things done, and stayed with her so she wouldn’t be alone?”  Peeta stood and walked behind her, dragging the chains on her swing back a little bit and giving her a gentle push.  He hadn’t pushed her on the swingset since Junior Prom, when her date had ditched her afterwards for some other girl.  Madge stayed quiet, so Peeta continued.  “For cripes’ sake, Madge, his  _mom_  is in there.  His mom, and his sister, and his best friend, and  _her_  sister.  And they’re all here because he knew you’d need people.  I doubt they’d have agreed if they thought you were just some coworker.”

Would she ever stop crying?  At this point, Madge was marveling at her tear ducts’ near infinite capacity.  Peeta stopped and crouched down in front of her.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel worse.  But he cares about you.  He cares about you a lot.  And I know you probably can’t deal with it right now, but don’t write him off, okay?”

She sniffled.  “All right.  I should probably go back in, huh?”

“Actually, Delly’s pretending to be you, so you can probably stay out here as long as you need to.”

 “Delly’s  _what?”_   Delly had the same coloring as Madge, but that was about where the similarities ended.

“A couple of your dad’s crowd mistook her for you, and she just kind of ran with it.  I don’t think your dad has noticed, and no one else seems to have caught on.”

Well, if anyone did catch on, it might be bad for Madge.  But her father’s friends thinking she was a lesbian receptionist with a nose ring was hardly the worst thing in the world.  So Peeta headed back inside and Madge stayed where she was until she was reasonably sure most people had left.

Back in the kitchen, Prim and Delly were helping Hazelle and Posy pack up the leftovers.  Hazelle was dividing them into individual servings and writing re-heating instructions for each before putting them in the freezer.  Katniss and Peeta were in the other room, moving furniture back into their original positions, but Gale was gone.  Hazelle didn’t seem to realize anything was amiss, or at least she had the tact not to comment.  Katniss was the one who told her he’d left, shifting her weight awkwardly and refusing to make eye contact.  “He, uh, he said he had some, um, some work to catch up on.  Peeta offered to stay with your dad again, and Delly will take you home and stay with you if you want.”

True to Katniss’ word, Delly drove her home.  She offered to stay, but Madge didn’t want anyone else in her apartment that night.  Well, she didn’t want anyone who wasn’t Gale, but she’d sort of lost the right to want that.  So she spent another sleepless night, wandering around her apartment aimlessly.  At three in the morning she decided to purge her closet, which led to her purging her desk, and then her bookshelves.  Anything to keep her busy, anything to keep her mind occupied.  Because when she wasn’t thinking about her mom, her mind kept going back to Gale.  To Gale and that night two years ago, the night she would do anything to take back.

 

The first time Madge had sex with Gale, she was drunk.  So was he, actually, the result of a company “holiday” party—scheduled in mid-January for cost saving purposes, of course.  They were the only two new associates hired that year, thanks to the economic downturn. They hadn’t worked together much, but they were on decent terms.  He’d flirt with her in the elevator, and she flirted shamelessly back. It wasn’t love at first sight, but it was fun.  And the night of the holiday party, they’d gotten drunk.  Them, and everyone else in the office.  They left together, intending to share a cab home, or at least that’s what they told everyone.  The second they were outside, his lips were on hers.  For some reason (she couldn’t remember the logic, but knew there had been some—maybe because no one else at work lived in his neighborhood?) they told the cabbie to go to Gale’s apartment and spent the whole drive lost in each other, unable to tear themselves apart for a single second.  Inside, they had slowly undressed each other before he picked her up and carried her to the bed, laying her down gently.  He covered her with his body, kissing her deeply.  His fingers slid inside of her and she arched her back, and he responded by taking her nipple in his mouth, sucking hard.  When he entered her he looked her in the eye, only breaking the contact for long, slow, kisses as he moved inside her.  She came with a gentle moan and he followed no long after, murmuring her name like a prayer as he emptied himself into the condom.

In short, it was nothing like their later couplings.  There had been no anger, no rough, needy passion.  There had been passion, of course, but a softer, gentler sort, the kind that promised lazy mornings in bed.  And maybe it would have turned into something more if she’d kept her mouth shut.  But she hadn’t.

As they laid there, sweat still cooling on their skin, she’d started teasing him.  Or she thought she was teasing him.  In actuality, she was being a dick.  Madge looked around his bedroom, taking in the peeling paint, the bars on the window and the closet that didn’t have a door, just a shower curtain strung across it, and started laughing.  “There’s this little thing called a salary, you know.  They pay us?  To work?  So we can spend it?”

He stiffened slightly.  “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about your apartment, Hawthorne.  I know how much money you make.  Even with loans, there’s no reason to live in such a  _dump_.”

“And what exactly is wrong with my apartment?”

She’d laughed again, still thinking this was flirtatious banter.  She’d been a little drunk, sure, but that wasn’t an excuse.  She should have stopped, should have apologized, should have done anything but keep going.  “Oh please.  This place is a shithole and you know it.”

“Well, I’m sorry it isn’t up to your standards,  _princess._   Not all of us have Daddy’s money you know.”  The venom in his voice surprised her and she sat up.

“What was that about my  _father?”_

“Some of us had to work for what we have, you know.  We don’t all have Daddy to pull strings with the partners.”

That infuriated her, especially since her father didn’t know  _any_  of the partners, but she knew for a fact Haymitch Abernathy came from the same podunk town as Gale and talked any chance he got about how Gale was another “hometown boy made good.”  If anyone was the product of nepotism in their firm, it was  _him._ “Right, and the fact that the office drunk is practically your godfather has  _nothing_  to do with you getting hired.”  She started searching for her clothes, pissed at him and confused as to how things between them had changed so quickly.

Gale barked a short laugh.  “Whatever, princess.  You know where the door is.  I hope you enjoyed slumming it.   Let me know if you ever want me to tell your daddy how great it was fucking you.  I’m sure that will make him nice and angry.”

“ _What?”_  she hissed.  Certainly he wasn’t implying what it sounded like he was implying.

“You heard me.  I know girls like you.  Girls who think it’ll be fun to fuck the trailer park trash and then run home to Daddy, making sure he knows exactly what happened so he’ll pay attention to you for once in your pathetic life.”  He rolled over, putting his back to her.  “Just get the fuck out of my apartment.”

She’d stormed out then, not believing what had just happened.  How in the world had it gone from  _that_ to  _that?_   At first, Madge thought maybe he just needed some time to calm down.  She thought about apologizing on Monday, but when she saw him in the hall he’d given her a hard look accompanied by that sly grin she soon came to hate, and she changed her mind. The things he’d said to her, the things he’d accused her of, kept ricocheting around in her brain and she decided she didn’t care what he thought of her.  That had been the end of it for awhile.  The next year, he brought his girlfriend to the firm’s holiday party, a tiny brunette tattoo artist named Johanna with an entire sleeve of tattoos whom Madge found privately terrifying.  Johanna had worn a miniscule strapless dress to show off her artwork and got drunk and slapped Gale’s ass, to the horror of the older, more conservative partners.  Gale had been dating her for almost a year, according to Delly, but he broke up with her shortly after the holiday party.  Madge had barely spoken to Gale until the whistling incident, which had caught her completely off guard.  But she constantly reminded herself of how that first time had gone, how quickly things with Gale could sour, and she didn’t let herself think of their relationship as anything beyond physical.

But now, after her outburst after the funeral, she wouldn’t even have that anymore.


	5. Chapter 5

The next three months passed slowly.  Madge’s father decided he couldn’t stay in that big house by himself anymore, so her weekends were spent hunting for a condo for him, and, once that was procured, emptying out her childhood home.  Peeta helped with both tasks, and Delly came around to help with the final cleaning before the house was sold.  Gale she only saw at work.  He was unfailingly polite and professional, but it was as if they were strangers.  Gone was the smirk, gone were the flirtatious double entendres, gone was any flash of whatever had compelled him to be there for her the worst weekend of her life.  The only hint that he even knew her came in the form of a box of cheap dishes that showed up in her office one Monday morning.  There was an unsigned note attached, but she knew instinctively it was from Gale. 

_At some point in the next few months you’re going to want to break something.  These should help._

 

Sure enough, two months after the funeral she found herself ready to snap so she went into the alley behind her apartment and smashed each dish.  It helped, but she couldn’t help but think that it would have felt better if Gale had been there with her.  Madge was angry with herself—angry that she hadn’t fixed things more with her mother, angry for how she’d acted two years ago, angry that she’d done the same thing after her mother’s funeral, angry that she’d ruined everything.

***

It was a Friday evening and Madge’s car was stalled on the shoulder of the interstate.  And then it started raining, because of course it fucking would.  She was sitting in her car, frantically googling nearby tow trucks and hoping that it wouldn’t cost an arm and a leg when a familiar black car stopped behind her.  Gale waited for a break in traffic before jogging to her car and hopping into the front seat.

“What happened?”  His voice was neutral, giving no hint if he’d forgiven her or not.

“No idea.  It made this awful grinding sound so I pulled over, and then it just stopped.”

He pulled his phone out and dialed.  “Hey, Thom.  My friend’s car broke down—how soon can you get here?”  He sketched out their rough position relative to the nearest exit and then turned to her.  “He wants to know what kind of sound it made—was it a screeching-grinding, or a rumbling-grinding?”

“Uh, screeching-grinding, I’d say,” she said after a moment of thought.  Gale relayed this information to Thom and then hung up.

“He’ll be here in about ten minutes.  He’s pretty sure he knows what’s wrong and doesn’t think it will take more than a few hours to fix.  I can take you to his garage, or…”  Gale trailed off.

“…or?”

He cleared his throat.  “Or you could come back to my place.  It’s not too far from here, and just around the corner from Thom’s garage.”  He kept his eyes forward, looking at the raining hitting the windshield rather than at her.  Again, his voice was dispassionate and she couldn’t tell if the offer was sincere or grudging.  When she didn’t respond right away, he continued.  “What are you doing over here anyway?  This is nowhere near the office or your place.”

“My dad lives a few miles up the road now.  He sold the old house.  And if it’s all right with you, sure.  I’ll wait for my car at your place.”  Gale nodded slowly, his face blank.

They sat in an uncomfortable silence until Thom arrived and then dashed through the pouring rain to Gale’s car.  She was desperate to think about anything  _but_  the last disastrous time she’d been to his apartment, casting about for possible topics of discussion.  Gale came to her rescue.  “So I hear Peeta is dating Katniss.”

Madge snorted.  She couldn’t help herself.  Peeta had been odd lately, distracted and squirrelly, and she should have known he was seeing someone.  “She should be careful with that one.  When he falls in love, he falls in love  _hard._ ”

“You speaking from personal experience?”

“Gross, no.  Just twenty years of listening to his romantic garbage.”

“Well, he should be careful too.  Katniss isn’t exactly known for her marshmallow-y personality.  Or being romantic.  Or anything to do with feelings, really.”

 “Did you and she ever…?”

Now it was Gale’s turn to laugh.  “Once, when I was seventeen and she was fifteen.  She was my best friend, and I thought hey—why not?  So I kissed her.”

“What happened?”

“She punched me in my fucking face is what happened.  Told me she’d break my nose if I ever did it again.”

Madge laughed, and internally breathed a sigh of relief.  Maybe they could fix this.  Or at least make things not-terrible.  “I bet Prim had a crush on you, though,” she teased.

“Hardly.  By the time she was old enough to notice boys I was, uh, going through a bit of a phase.”

“What kind of phase?”

“A mountain man phase.  Katniss’ words, not mine.  But my first year of college I sort of stopped shaving and grew this big bushy beard.  And by the time I came home for break Prim took one look and pronounced me ‘gross.’”  He smiled at the memory, and Madge felt the knot in her chest—the knot that had been there since her mother’s funeral—ease slightly.

But inside the apartment, she was back to not know what to say.   _Should I compliment his apartment?  No, he’ll think I’m lying, or worse, making fun of him.  At the very least it would remind him of last time, which would be bad.  Very bad._  She stood awkwardly in the living room, acutely aware that she was still soaked from her brief stint at pretending she could figure out what was wrong with her car.  Gale disappeared into his bedroom and returned with a t-shirt and a pair of boxers.  “Here, you’re soaking and it’s going to be awhile.  Bathroom’s that way and clean towels are under the sink.”

Okay, so they were going to pretend she’d never been here before.  Fine by her.  She could handle that.  Madge went to the bathroom and changed, toweling off her hair as best she could.  It was going to be a frizzy mess, but that couldn’t be helped.  Back in the living room, Gale had set up a collapsible drying rack for her wet clothes.  His bedroom door was closed, so she hung her clothes up and walked to the only window in the room.  It was getting dark outside, the light fading and the storm increasing in tandem.  She could just make out her reflection in the glass, a ghostly, hazy image.  And behind her stood Gale.  She hadn’t heard him leave his room, but there he was.  He stepped closer to her, close enough for her to feel waves of heat coming off his body.

Her eyes stayed on the window, examining his reflection.  She couldn’t read his expression but he was looking down, his gaze trained on the smooth expanse of her neck and shoulder bared where his t-shirt had slipped off her shoulder.  She realized he didn’t have a shirt on, and her heart sank.  She didn’t have it in her to go back to their games.  Not anymore.

Gale lifted a hand and gently trailed a knuckle down the side of her throat, down to where her neck met her shoulder and down her shoulder to where his shirt rested.  He took a small step closer and wrapped his hand around her waist, tugging up the shirt so his hand burned against the skin of her stomach.  She wasn’t wearing a bra, a fact she was keenly aware of at the moment as his fingers brushed her ribcage.  He pulled her against him, just slightly, her back against his bare chest.  “Madge,” he whispered in her ear, “I’m so sorry.  For everything.  I shouldn’t have told you how to feel, what to do.  I was trying to help, but I fucked up.”

She shook her head, keeping her eyes on their reflection.  “No, you don’t have anything to apologize for.  I was—I was awful to you.  After the funeral, and…and before.  Last time I was here.  Those things I said—they weren’t true.  None of them.  I’m the one who should be sorry.  And I am.”

Gale was silent for a moment.  “I don’t want to go back to how we were before.  I don’t want to just be your coworker, or your coworker that you screw when you’re bored.  I want more than that.  I want to be there when you’re sad, or happy, and I want…  I just—Madge, I just want you.”

She turned and kissed him, unable to find the right words.  She rose on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck, and then Gale lifted her into his arms and her legs locked around his hips of their own accord.  He carried her into the bedroom and set her down on the bed, never once breaking the kiss.  He tried to stand, but her arms around his neck held him down, and soon enough he followed her as she laid back on the bed.  Madge rolled them so she was on top and pulled the shirt over her head, desperate to feel his skin against hers.  Her breasts brushed his chest and he moaned, sliding his hands up her sides and cupping them in his hands.  She could feel him between her legs, pressing into her center.  Gale twisted her underneath him then and kissed his way down her body.  He tugged her closer to the edge of the bed and stood, hooking his fingers in the waistband of her underwear and shorts and pulling them off.  He leaned over and kissed her, and then knelt between her legs.  He positioned one leg over his shoulder and spread her folds, smiling against her as she nearly screamed.  Madge’s hands scrabbled for purchase, grasping the sheets, his hair, and his forearm in turn.  He tongued her clit and then her opening, moving between the two, teasing her mercilessly.  Just when she thought she might explode or pull his hair out by the roots, he returned to her clit, sucking the bud between his lips until she arched off the bed, coming apart in shuddering waves.  He kissed her thigh, her stomach, her breast, and her neck, slowly crawling up her body and back onto the bed.  He laid on his side, facing her, threading his fingers through her hair, a soft smile on his face.  She kissed him then, and pressed herself against him, reaching into his athletic shorts and feeling him hot and hard in her hand.

Gale broke the kiss and went to stand but she stopped him.  “Wait, I—I haven’t been with anyone else.  Not since…not since you.  And I’m on the pill.”  He searched her face for a moment and nodded, pushing his shorts and boxers down and laying back down next to her.  Madge slid her leg over his, and then her arm over his chest, and pulled herself on top of him, kissing him hard.  She sat up and stroked his cock, once, twice, three times, until he groaned.  She was nervous, she realized, her stomach fluttering at the thought of having sex without a barrier.  Nervous, but good-nervous.  Excited-nervous. She held him at her entrance and sank down slowly, marveling at how different it felt.  Gale seemed to feel the same way, closing his eyes tightly and his fingers digging into her hips.  She rocked forward then, just slightly, and his eyes flew open.  His hips rose to meet her on every stroke, his hands gliding up from her thighs to her hips to her sides to her breasts and back down.  Suddenly he sat up, and the new angle made her throw her head back and moan loudly.  He wrapped his arm around her back and pulled her chest to his, cradling her face in his hand.  He kissed her fiercely then, nipping at her lips as his hips surged upwards.  He tangled one hand in her hair at the base of her skull and the other slid down to where they were joined.  As his hand moved in circles his hips sped up, and when he came inside of her she felt it at her very core.  She came soon after, clamping down on him and wringing out the last bit of his release.  Madge rested her forehead against his, trying to catch her breath and process what just happened at the same time.  Gale kissed her again, slowly and deeply.

His phone buzzed on his nightstand and he groaned, reaching back for it blindly.  Madge climbed off of him reluctantly, but relished the opportunity to stretch out her legs.  Sex with Gale Hawthorne was one hell of a workout.  She laid there languidly as Gale read the text and typed out a quick response.  “Thom says your car is ready.”  He grinned then, that sly smirk that used to make her want to hit him and kiss him at the same time.  It still did, but now she could kiss him, so she did.  Gale broke the kiss just slightly.  “I told him you’d pick it up tomorrow.”  


	6. outtake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set between chapter three and four.

At first, Madge wasn’t sure what had woken her.  She just knew her chest felt like it was caving in.  Then she remembered—her mother’s wake.  She’d spent the last several hours numbly accepting condolences from strangers because her mother was dead.  A fresh wave of grief sent her into wracking sobs, like she was trying to cry her insides out.

A dark head popped up next to her.  She’d forgotten that Gale was staying with her.  Sleeping with her, actually, as he’d held her as she cried herself to sleep and refused to let him leave her bed.  He curled around her now and pulled her back against his chest.  He made soft shushing noises and stroked her hair softly, but he never once told her it would be okay.  For all his faults, Gale never lied to her.

Sometime later, he spoke.  “Is there anything I can do?” 

Madge shook her head and turned in his arms, burying her face in his chest.  “Just don’t leave,” she finally managed.

He kissed her forehead softly.  “I’m right here.  I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered.  “I promise.”

Her sobs eased slightly.  After all, Gale would never lie.


	7. Gale POV outtake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been meaning to write this for a few months, because I felt like I needed to explain why Gale just disappeared after their fight in Madge’s room. It picks up right after the fight in chapter four and runs roughly parallel to the rest of that chapter and most of chapter five.

Gale clenched the steering wheel and took a deep breath.  Shame and anger warred inside him and he briefly considered going back inside and apologizing, taking Madge in his arms and holding her until the storm had passed, but he couldn’t.  He was barely hanging on—his mother had raised a single eyebrow when he kissed her cheek and stiffly said something had come up for work and he had to go, but she didn’t say anything else.  Catnip had narrowed her eyes at him and started to ask what was  _really_  going on, but a gruff “not now” from him had silenced her.  He sat in his car outside the enormous white colonial with green shutters—probably six times the size of the trailer he’d grown up in, and three times the size of the house Hazelle now owned—and struggled to quell the anger and resentment rising inside of him.

The words she’d thrown at him in her ridiculously pink room had cut uncomfortably close to the nagging fears in the back of his mind; that he  _wasn’t_  anything more than a quick fuck to her, that she  _didn’t_  want him around, that she was just too overwhelmed with grief to tell him to leave her alone.  He’d been debating leaving since he dropped her off at the hospital, telling himself that it wasn’t any of his business and that she was a grown up who could handle herself, but he hadn’t been able to convince himself to leave.  Not until now, but now that he’d left he knew she would never want him back.  He’d walked out on her—abandoned her, really—when she needed him most.   _Just go back inside and apologize_ , a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Ma whispered, but he stayed frozen in the driver’s seat.  Even though he knew that whatever they had was now irrevocably broken and it was all his fault, and seeing that written on her face would be too much.  So like the coward he was, Gale twisted the key and drove out of the quiet suburban cul-de-sac, hating himself more with every second.

Truth be told, he had no idea how he had wound up so entangled in her life.  Not after the way things ended the first time.  He hated her for months after that, for being no different than the rest of the spoiled brats he’d made a career out of fucking all through high school.  He had been  _so sure_  she was nothing like those girls, but then she got back to his apartment and suddenly, she wasn’t.  He saw the apology lurking in her eyes the next week at work, but he wasn’t ready to hear it.  Not yet—not when he’d been so swiftly flung back in time to being the trailer park boy you couldn’t be seen with in public.  So he started baiting her and needling her instead, and by the time he realized he didn’t actually hate her anymore too much time had passed.

_The first time Gale had sex, he was fourteen and had buried his dad just a month before. He got roaring drunk and ended up in bed with a pretty girl the class ahead of him, and she was soft and warm and for a little while, he managed to forget the crushing grief and guilt that had been threatening to consume him.  But afterwards when he hopefully asked if he could see her again, she’d chuckled and explained that he was fun, he really was, but he had to know that a girl like her couldn’t be seen with a guy like him._

_That was when he figured out who he was and who they were.  Gale was good at some things—namely convincing girls to sleep with him—but there were some things he would never be, because he would never, ever be good enough for them.  That knowledge fueled his rage for the better part of five years as he perfected his disaffected bad boy image that seemed to attract a specific type of girl—rich, pretty, and with a distant father who saw her as nothing more than his virginal little princess.  Gale’s job was to destroy that image for her father, to give her a little bit of a thrill as he snuck into her enormous house to fuck her (more than once on her parents’ bed) before leaving in the dead of night.  He even let himself get caught a few times, letting the father’s rage beat down on him in a punishment he so richly deserved.   He managed to acquire quite a reputation but it suited him just fine. It worked in his favor, drawing the type of girls that wanted just a taste of danger—but not real danger, because in the end he was just a poor high school kid who wanted nothing more than to leave their dead-end town—and building a protective wall around himself._

_Katniss hated his reputation, but mostly because once they started spending time together (blowing off the grief counseling group their mothers insisted they join had quickly grown into an actual, honest-to-god friendship) people started assuming that she was one of his conquests.  And if there was one thing Catnip hated, it was being labeled something she wasn’t.  The rumors about them got so out of control that one day he figured he’d give it a shot and see if maybe everyone else was onto something._

_They weren’t, and he almost got a broken nose out of the bargain.  It took weeks of apologizing to get her to talk to him again—the first and only time in his life Gale Hawthorne had groveled for anything.  There was a certain freedom to their friendship after that; they both knew that whatever happened, they had each other’s backs._

Gale pulled into his parking space behind his dump of an apartment and checked his phone.  Just as he suspected, he had a message from Katniss.

_< Delly’s taking her home and the food is put away.  But you owe me an explanation.>_

He sighed and typed out a response.   _< We fought.  It’s complicated.  Thanks for the help though.>_

His phone beeped when he was back in his apartment.   _< Not good enough.  You’re buying me dinner sometime soon.>  _Gale tossed his phone onto the couch and sat down, only to hear it beep once more. _< And Prim wants me to remind you to shave.>_  He smiled weakly at that—Prim had a habit of making things a little bit better.  He looked around the apartment and Madge once again surfaced, reminding him of how much she hated his place.  He hadn’t bothered to tell Madge that he lived here instead of someplace nicer so he could pay his mother’s mortgage every other month.  Ma hated it, but that way she could save for Posy’s college fund and anyway, he liked being in the same neighborhood as Thom’s shop.  He felt like he fit in better here, didn’t stick out like a poor trailer park thumb like he did at firm events.  At the time, he didn’t want her to know, didn’t want her pity.  Now it was too late.

He found himself wishing for Prim’s gentle humor during the next week.  Work was bleak; Madge was still out but every day he walked past her closed door and wished he still had the right to see her.  Every damn thing reminded him of her, from the stupid copy machine that she was always complaining about (everyone else just had their secretary make copies, but Madge insisted on doing it herself whenever Delly was busy, which was almost always) to the dingy beige coffee mug that had her red lipstick practically embedded into the rim.

Rosa was the worst, though, because it was Rosa that changed his mind about Madge in the first place.  She cleaned the office most evenings and the Thursday after Madge’s mom died Rosa came in to empty the trash and hesitantly asked if Miss Undersee was all right, because she hadn’t been in to work in a week.  Gale swore internally—he never thought to make sure someone told Rosa, and of course no one else at the firm would ever think to inform the cleaning lady that a junior associate’s mother died.  He and Madge (and maybe Delly) were probably the only three people who even knew her name.  Madge and Rosa were friendly—friends, even.  He had overheard them chatting countless times, and once even heard Madge offer to help Rosa’s son find a job in her friend’s kitchen to bolster his application to culinary school.  The kitchen job was probably with Peeta, he realized with a start.  Gale explained the situation to Rosa, who gasped and covered her mouth with her hand and asked for Madge’s address so she could at least send a card.  Rosa thanked him and then asked how  _he_  was doing, in a way that made him realize that maybe he hadn’t been as discreet as he thought when it came to Madge.

The moment he stopped hating Madge was over a year after their falling out, shortly after he ended things with Jo for the last time.  Rosa came into his office with blue-stained teeth, and he’d realized that the extra cupcake with bright blue frosting Madge swiped from the office birthday party—a habit he’d noticed long ago and assumed was just more proof of her being a greedy brat—was for Rosa.  His heart softened slightly but he couldn’t admit it to himself until after she’d stormed into his office several days later and shouted at him about whistling and ended up sprawled across his desk.  He still couldn’t resist baiting her that night, and when she swept out of his office she left her underwear behind.  He didn’t want to provoke her anymore—or more accurately, wasn’t sure if he could handle seeing her again without tearing her clothes off for a second time—so he took them home and threw them in the wash.  He put them in a paper bag and asked Rosa to let him in her office a few nights later, claiming he’d left some important files on her desk. 

For weeks after the whistling incident he managed to convince himself it was a one—okay, two—time thing.  That even though he didn’t hate her anymore, getting involved with Madge was a bad idea.  He never let his mask slip in the office.  Madge still hated him and he couldn’t bear her scorn if she realized he didn’t loathe her back the same way.  He even agreed to let Bristel set him up with one of her friends.  But that date, while not exactly a disaster, hadn’t gone very well and he somehow ended up in Madge’s apartment that night instead.

While he’d grudgingly accepted that he no longer hated her, it really wasn’t until that damn business trip that he realized what he felt for Madge was more than just not-hate and good sex.  He was irritated with her at first, her temper tantrum about the room making him wonder if she hated him  _so much_  that the thought of spending a night with him sent her into a rage.  But then the way she laughed at herself, and admitted that she was mostly embarrassed to have found out Gloss was engaged in front of him wore him down.  There was a vulnerability to her admission that made his heart twist.  But when he kissed her she turned the tables, making it clear she had no interest in tenderness from him.  She was right, he knew, because the two of them and emotions was a combustible mix.  Even though that night she’d curled herself into him, burrowing into his side as she slept, and even though she snuck into the shower with him the next morning, her smile impossibly bright, he kept telling himself to leave it be.

He almost broke, though.  He had been on the verge of seeing if she wanted to grab dinner with him when she got that terrible phone call.  It changed everything.  For Madge, and for him.  He hadn’t been there for Katniss when her dad died—they didn’t meet until they were both part of a club neither wanted to be in—so he didn’t know what it was like to watch someone you cared about go through hell.  Gale didn’t realize just how much he cared until she walked into the waiting room, devastation written across her face.  He knew then and there that he couldn’t leave; that he couldn’t walk away from her, not when he knew exactly what she was going through.

So Gale stayed the night, and then the next, and the next.  He knew what it was like to crave comfort and closeness through your grief, and he might not be good with words or great with feelings, but this he could do.  He could curl around her and hold her as she cried; he could hug her tightly when she looked like she was about to crack.  He could help her set up the funeral, and he could call his family and friends for help when he realized just how alone she and her father were.  Gale knew from experience that it took a village to bury a parent.  He might not be able to make it better, but he could at least make it less terrible.

But he couldn’t fuck her just hours after she buried her mother.  He just couldn’t.  He told Madge it was because it wasn’t what she needed, but he was also afraid that if he did, she’d never want to see him again, that she would always associate him with the worst days of her life.  But telling her that would be opening up a whole new set of issues that he didn’t think either of them was up to handling.  So he rejected her instead, hoping that he would somehow still have a chance of salvaging things.  But in the end it didn’t matter, because she never wanted to see him again.

Gale watched her from afar at work, silently monitoring her progress.  She’d be furious if she knew so he kept his distance, even when he saw the flicker of pain that flashed across her face after she laughed at one of Delly’s jokes.  That had been the hardest—all he wanted to do was pull her into his arms and promise her that she wasn’t betraying her mother by laughing or moving on, but she wouldn’t want that from him.  Not anymore.

Katniss insisted that all he needed to do was talk to her and apologize, but she didn’t know the full extent of it.  She didn’t know about that first time and the horrible things he’d said to Madge, fully intending to wound her.  Katniss didn’t seem to comprehend just how deeply he’d fucked up on more than one occasion.

Instead, he asked Rosa to put a box of dishes in Madge’s office.  He told her they were something Madge had asked him to get, but judging by her eyebrow raise Rosa didn’t believe him.  He didn’t feel like explaining to Rosa that smashing a bunch of dishes behind the restaurant Thom worked at had been the only thing that really helped him feel better in the months after his dad died, even if the stunt had gotten Thom fired.  He wanted Madge to know he understood how she was feeling, but at the last minute he chickened out and left the note unsigned.  She would probably guess it was from him, but at least this way he would have some plausible deniability.

He almost didn’t stop when he saw her car on the shoulder—he didn’t think she’d want to see him.  He sat in the stop-and-go traffic, inching closer and closer to the car in the pouring rain, and he knew that he had to give it at least one more shot.  Even though she didn’t know he was there, he couldn’t abandon her again.  He took a deep breath and guided his car onto the shoulder, steeling himself for what was to come.


	8. outtake II

Gale gripped Madge’s hand tightly.  “Ready?” he asked.

She nodded as best she could while laying face down, topless, on a tattoo parlor table.  Getting her mother’s birthday tattooed on her right shoulder blade had been her idea but she was currently wondering why she’d ever thought this was a good plan.  Madge had never been much for pain.

Gale brought her hand to his lips and brushed a soft kiss against her knuckles.  “It’s okay to be scared—I was with my first one,” he admitted and that brought a smile to her face just as the tattoo artist approached.

It did hurt.  A lot.  It stung and it burned, but she couldn’t bring herself to regret the decision even as tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes.  Her mother had been gone two years and Madge needed to mark that somehow, needed to brand herself with a reminder of the woman she’d lost no matter how imperfect their relationship had been.

And if it echoed the tattoo that Gale had for his father, well, that was just one more thing tying them together.  Rings could be taken off.

Ink was permanent.

**Author's Note:**

> Extra special thank you to bleedtoloveher for her beta skills.


End file.
